


for the bodies that rise slowly back

by eudaimon



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sort of sequel to  my fic <a href="http://eudaimon.livejournal.com/599874.html">after that long kiss I near lost my breath</a>, in which Chekov and Sulu fall foul of the Queen of Spring on the Pleasure Planet IO.</p>
<p>The crew on the Enterprise stumble across a particularly confusing plant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the bodies that rise slowly back

In the jungles of Dolorosa 9, they all sweated and Sulu watched the way that Chekov's hair curled at the nape of his neck and the way his pale skin flushed. At night, under Starfleet issue sheets, Chekov generated a lot of heat, a lot more than Sulu did anyway, and he always found himself pressing closer, his chest against Chekov's back. In the jungle, they stripped down to uniform tanktops and didn't touch and Sulu found himself (once again) spellbound by the freckles on Chekov's pale shoulders. When they slowed to a halt so that water could be fetched, shade enjoyed, Sulu pulled Chekov back against him with fingers curled against the side of his neck and held him there for a moment, even though it was really too hot to stay touching.

"More sunblock?" asked Chekov, wilting in the heat, letting his head tip forward when Sulu kissed the reddened skin over the nub of bone at the base of his neck.

"Unless you want to burn to a crisp."

With Chekov's back to him he couldn't _see_ it, but Sulu imagined his nose wrinkling with distaste. He didn't like the way it smelled. To Sulu, the smell of sunblock was his childhood, days spent on the beach with his sisters, family trips to Mexico. Chekov probably felt the same way about the smell that meant a likelihood of snow.

No danger of that here.

Chekov sat on a tree root, head bent low over his knees. Sulu knew better than to touch him; the heat was miserable, and Chekov was suffering more than almost anybody else on the crew. He'd been in San Francisco since he was fourteen but three years of hot summers was nothing compared to fourteen in the snow. Sulu walked away from him and crouched down at the edge of the clearing, studying a small plant with vivid crimson blossoms and sharp spines. It purred and nuzzled against his fingers.

"I thought we decided we wouldn't _touch_ anything," said Kirk, standing behind him with his arms folded across his chest.  
"It's nothing," said Sulu, fumbling in his pants pocket for a bio-pod. "It's just a Weeper plant. Harmless."  
"Isn't that particular breed carnivorous?" injected Spock.

Sulu nodded, carefully easing the thing out of the ground.

"Yeah, but they only eat bugs."

He set the bio-pod alongside all the others in the carry case. The Enterprise _had_ a botanist. Sulu's job was to keep a steady hand, but the plants were for his personal collection, and they were down in the jungle anyway. He slipped the carry-case back into his pack and settled the straps back against his shoulders. On the way out to the camps, there hadn't been any time to pause but they were on the way back now, all of them safe and sound. It had been...remarkably uneventful. Nobody was complaining. Two years into a five year mission, quiet days were few and far between. Sulu bent his head, shifting his pack on his shoulders and he looked up.

"Ready?"

Chekov was back on his feet, bright colour burning in both cheeks, his hair clinging against his forehead. He looked so miserable and so beautiful that it was all that Sulu could do not to lean in and kiss him in front of Kirk and Spock and everybody.

Chekov's mouth quirked into a miserable little smile.

"I was not made to be this hot," he said.  
"I'll put you in a cold shower once we get back to the ship," promised Sulu, knowing two things: that he'd be right in there with him, and that they were probably over a day's hike from the Enterprise. Chekov shouldered his own pack with a deep, heartfelt sigh. He pushed one slender hand through his hair and left it standing straight up. Sulu's hair was damp enough with sweat that he pushed it back with both hands and it stayed exactly there. His shirt stuck against his back. He reached out a hand and straightened Chekov's tanktop over his belly, stealing the chance to graze his fingers against the sweaty skin over Chekov's hip.

He could feel the heat pulsing out of him like electricity.

As they walked, they talked. Long legged, her hair twisted back from her face, Uhura caught up to them. Her and Chekov sounded like they were playing a game, some kind of back and forth in rapid-fire Russian and, every so often, Uhura would smirk and, every so often, Chekov would huff a laugh out through his nose. Sulu was watching them while he walked, trying to figure out whtat the hell they were doing and then Chekov tripped, went down hard and didn't have time to catch himself with his hands. His head made a sound when it hit the dry earth. Uhura grabbed for him and then she went down too, being dragged by something, too quick to be believed, throwing up leaves.

Sulu took off running after them before Kirk even had time to turn his head.

He caught up to them in a clearing identical to the one they'd rested in. Uhura was sitting up, pulling at the the tendril around her ankle, trying to get it undone, trying to get it _off_. Chekov was sitting up too but he looked pale, green eyes unfocused. There was a red knot blooming on his forehead where he must have banged it as he fell. Sulu dropped down on his knees beside him, rifling through his pack. In the carry-case, the Weeper was wailing. Somewhere in there, he had a blade. Christ, he'd _just used the fucking thing_. Part of him knew that he should have gone to Uhura firs, that that would probably have been the right thing to do, but one think that Sulu knew was that Nyota Uhura coud take care of herself. He didn't like the sick look in Chekov's eyes.

"Don't panic, okay?" he said, still fumbling through his things, ripping them out of the pack by the handful. "I've got a...just... _fuck_."

"Any idea what the fuck this thing is?" asked Uhura through what sounded like gritted teeth. Sulu shook his head, scrabbling through his things on the ground, now, and, finally, fucking _finally_ , his fingers grazed the hilt of his switchblade. Overheard, purple blooms pulsed luridly in the canopy.

Sulu had never seen anything like it. The Enterprise had a botanist. Sulu's job was to keep a steady hand.

"Want to fill me in on what the hell is going on here?"

McCoy was there, already on his knees, slotting in behind CHekov, half supporting him against his chest as he turned his face to get a good look at him. Chekov's skin had taken on a pale, waxy look. His eyes were closed, the lids bruised, fluttering like they would in deep REM sleep. Sulu found himself staring at the three dark quills sticking out proud from the usually flawless kin of Chekov's throat, trembling with every beat of his heart.

"What the..."  
"Just cut the damn vine, Sulu," snapped Uhura. She was holding three quills in the palm of her hand. On his knees beside her, Spock stared and then he picked up the tendril and he tore it with his bare hands. Uhura gasped and swooned backwards. Sulu looked away from the blood that was bright at her throat and he watched as McCoy pulled the quills out of Chekov's neck, one, two, three. Chekov made a sound that could only have been a moan, a crease of tension between his eyebrows.

Sulu did it. He made his cut.  
He wished that he could have been the one to catch Chekov, but McCoy was there, waiting.

*

Four days later, he was still waiting for Chekov's eyes to open. At the other end of the Sick Bay, Spock was keeping a similar vigil. Spock paced. Sulu slouched with his feet up on the bed, paging through botanical journals uploaded onto his PADD, practicing what he was going to say when Chekov woke up. He bought a few things from Chekov's quarters; a t-shirt that either one of them might wear to bed, depending on the night...a candle that smelled like church incense...a three-legged stuffed rhinoceros named Tolstoy. Sulu sat with Tolstoy cradled in his lap, watching Chekov sleep. The puncture wounds had faded to three bruises, like they'd been left there by lips and teeth. Sometimes, Sulu left bruises on Chekov without thinking.

He always remembered to kiss them better.

"There has been no change."

Without looking up at Spock, Sulu shook his head. He flipped a page on his PADD. The plant, he'd discovered, was not a million miles away from an earth clematis, a climbing plant. It didn't have a name that he could pronounce. It came in both male and female varieties, but it was very rare. 

Just their luck.

"No," he said, finally. "No change."  
"It has been four days."  
"You think I haven't noticed?"  
"I did not intend to imply that you hadn't noticed, Lieutenant Sulu. I meant only to convey that it has been on my mind also."

Sulu nodded and then he leaned forward, arm curled around Tolstoy to stop him falling and he squeezed Chekov's ankle through the sheet.

"They're going to wake up," he said.

They'd been together for two years. Chekov had been seventeen when they met for the first time.  
It was inconceivable that he wouldn't come back.

He sat there for another hour before he had to go to the bridge for his shift. Kirk had done everything that he could to free up Spock and Sulu but the fact remained that nobody really knew the Enterprise like Sulu did, by touch. He could pilot her with a fingertip. He sat at the conn staring out at the stars. He was thinking about Chekov telling him the story of the first time he saw the Southern Cross. He was dimly aware of the business of the bridge going on around him; even in the middle of the night, it was never quiet -- PADDs to be signed off on, status reports, all through the watches of the night, and this was Alpha shift. James Kirk was on the bridge.

He thought he heard his name and he turned around in his chair. Kirk was staring at him, PADD in hand.

"Do I have your full attention, Mr Sulu?"

Sulu felt his face flush. He nodded and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Sir."

"You might want to head down to Sick Bay, Lieutenant," said Kirk, kindly, handing the PADD back to the Yeoman. "Bones says that Chekov's waking up."

He didn't need to be told twice before he took off running. He was quick, yes, but he wasn't half the runner that Chekov was. He was the one who sat with his spine to the steel wall of the shuttle bay and counted the laps, while Chekov ran between the shuttles and sweated through his shirts. He was the one who peeled Pavel's shirt up over his head, kissed his chest and then pushed him into the shower, marveling at how, in two years, he'd grown into the coltish grace of his limbs.

Just this once though, for Chekov, Sulu was the runner.

He was out of breath, winded by the time he got to the Sickbay. McCoy was standing at the foot of Uhura's bed, making notes. He looked up when Sulu clattered into the room, both eyebrows raised.

"Jesus Christ, man, this is a _sickbay_ not a racetrack."  
"I...yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

He was already walking down the ward.

"He's still groggy," warned McCoy but Sulu didn't give a shit. It had been four days. He just needed to be there. He just couldn't bear the thought of Chekov being alone.

In the bed at the end of the bay, Chekov was lying back against pillows, blinking sleepily. It was a face that Sulu had been staring at pretty much stop for four days. It was a completely different face, now that Chekov's eyes were open. Sulu sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed a stray curl back from Chekov's forehead. Eyes wide and bright with sleep, Chekov smiled, still a little unfocused. It was like Sulu's heart pulsed, like someone gripped it in their first, just for a split second.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Both of Chekov's eyebrows raised.

"Weird. I...what happened?"  
"About that."

Sulu had spent days rehearsing this. He flexed his fingers, reaching for a PADD that he'd left up on the bridge. He took a deep breath. He tried not to stare.

"We're pretty sure it's going to wear off."

Both eyebrows shot up, green eyes widening in a face that was pale aside from the bright, feverish spots burning in both cheeks.

"...Sure that _what_ will wear off, Hikaru? I remember...only the jungle."

Someone cleared their throat politely at Sulu's elbow. Spock was standing there, one arm folded behind his back, holding out a mirror with the other.

"I believe that this might be beneficial at this time, Lieutenant."

Sulu took it with a nod of thanks. Suddenly, his mouth was dry.

"Just look," he said, holding it out to Chekov. "Just...look, and then I'll...I'll try and explain."

What Sulu had pieced together from journals was this: the rare climbing plants of Dolorosa 9 had a very clever way of breeding. They were few and few between so it benefited them to make use of other local fauna. Very definitely sexed, they used projectile spores to change the gender of potential mates. Apparently, it wasn't just fauna that the toxins worked on. There wasn't any research on the subject, per se, but Sulu had spent four days looking at living proof.

Four days hadn't been enough to get used to it. 

" _Oh, bozhe._."

Chekov stared at herself in the mirror. Sulu didn't know which part was most difficult to take in. A froth of curls spilled over Chekov's shoulders. Her features were more or less the same as they always had been...more delicate, maybe; her nose finger, the curve of her bottom lip slightly fuller. The t-shirt, ragged and torn around the edges (Sulu's for Academy PT, originally), did little to disguise the ample swell of breasts. Sulu watched as Chekov touched her own cheek gently with the pads of her fingers. Her eyelashes were unbelievably long.

Sulu hadn't ever had a chance to see himself when this had happened to him, back on the Pleasure Planet of IO. He'd never gotten anywhere near a mirror. It hadn't lasted long enough.  
Chekov looked like something from a painting.

She turned to look at him, babbling a stream of rapid-fire Russian.

Sulu frowned and shook his head.

"English, Pavel."  
"How did this happen?"

Chekov was all but quivering with indignation and Sulu was coming to realise that it was difficult to keep looking her in the eyes when her breasts _moved_ like that. He went to reach for his PADD and, once again, remembered that he'd forgotten it.

"The plant. It's...the darts, you know?" He reached out and touched the side of Chekov's neck, the bruises covered by the drape and froth of her hair. "The plant. When it got you, it...changed you. We think it wanted to mate with you." He huffed a laugh at that, but sobered quickly. Chekov looked on the verge of tears. "It got Uhura too."

He didn't know why that was supposed to make it better.

:"But I..." Chekov gaped at herself for a moment. "Am I stuck like this?"

Sulu remembered that, that moment of abject terror when he'd stood in the dark on IO and clutched at himself with both hands and been utterly terrified that he was going to have to stay like that forever.

"No," he said, lying but _wanting_ to believe it with every fibre of his being. "No, of course you're not."  
"I believe that it would be wrong to mislead the Lieutenant when we simply canon know, Mr Sulu," said Spock. "Without sufficient research, any definite "yes" or "no" is merely conjecture and, as such..."  
" _Spock_."

At the other end of the bay, McCoy was standing with both hands on his hips and a scowl firmly in place on his face. IN the bed beside him, Uhura shifted, back of one smooth dark skinned hand pressed to his forehead. The heels of Spock's boots clicked as he hastened down the ward.

"Oh," he said. " _Oh_."

Sulu looked back and she was still staring at herself in the mirror. He sat back bonelessly in her chair and watched her. It had been a couple of years since what had happened to him on IO but the details were still pretty fucking crisp. He hadn't had time to sit and wonder, though, had he. He'd had no other choice but to get on with it.

As he watched, Chekov lips parted and a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Don't cry," he whispered, and reached out to brush it away.  
"I look very like my sisters," said Chekov, miserably. "So like them."  
"So your dad's house is full of beautiful girls, then?:

The smile wasn't as much as he'd wanted, as big as he'd hoped for, but it was, at least, something.

*

A few hours later, back in the room, Chekov padded around the room in a pair of Sulu's boxers and a sweater that had slipped down off one shoulder. She picked things up and looked at them like she'd never seen before. She held Tolstoy against the curve of one breast. It was probably the cutest thing that Sulu had ever seen. He busied himself making tea, careful to use Chekov's favourite glass. She bent over the desk just has he looked up and there she was, ass in the air. The tea brewing, he walked up behind her, tracing the curve of her backside with one hand, his fingers tracing against the cleft of her ass through thin cotton. It was something he wouldn't have thought twice about doing when Chekov was himself, but Chekov when he was himself wouldn't have gasped like that, her hips rocking back, catching her weight against one arm bent on the desk. She was still holding the damn soft toy. In the mirror over the desk, he watched the way her lips parted, the damp flush of her cheeks. He couldn't help staring at the way the ripe weight of her breasts swayed forward under thin cotton.

"Jesus."  
" _Da_ ," she said, breathlessly. Her anatomy was unfamiliar under his roving hands. Both of his hands pushed up the front of her body, taking her shirt with it, cupping her breasts. He squeezed hard enough to make her moan, staring at the pink of her nipples showing between his fingers. He'd never...Girls had never been his thing, much: he found long smooth muscles much more interesting, but then he looked her in the face in the mirror, looked her in the eyes, saw Chekov there and he couldn't help but want to touch her. He lifted her breasts and she covered his hands with hers, her much smaller fingers sliding against his. She rubbed her thumbs against her nipples and groaned, softly, pushing her ass back firmly against his dick.

"We're going to have to get you a new uniform," he said, breathlessly, experimentally pinching her skin, enjoying the way that it made her squirm.  
"What?" she asked, leaning her weight on both arms now, which swayed her breasts forward into his hands. "I have...many uniforms, Hikaru."  
"Yeah, but these are never going to fit into them, are they?"

Later, when he sat down with Scotty and a glass of Scotch, Sulu couldn't quite piece together how quickly it all happened. One moment, Chekov was pressed against him, squirming and whimpering, pressing into his hands and the next minute she was on the other side of the room, face flushed, arms folded across her chest.

"Why would you say that?" she snapped.  
"What?" asked Sulu, eyes wide, hands spread. "What did I do?"  
"Perhaps I should borrow a dress for Uhuha? Stockings? It could be a...what?" She made the little sharp hand gesture that she always made when she couldn't quite think of the English word that she wanted. "Garters. It could be a fetish for you, _da_?"

Sulu felt his face flush.

"Are you serious?"  
"Yes! You think this isn't hard enough? You think having to wait until this wears off is easy? You think it's nice?" Bright circles of colour were burning in Chekov's cheeks and her green eyes were brimming with tears. "I don't _want_ to wear girl's uniform, Sulu. I want my own uniform. I want to do my _job_ and, instead...Instead..." She sniffs miserable and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. 

"I don't want this," she said, miserably, holding onto herself and Sulu took that as his cue, bending down to retrieve Tolstoy before he crossed the bedroom. He brushed curls back from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He caught hold of her around the shoulders with his other arm, drawing her in against his chest. 

"I'm a fucking idiot," he said, holding onto her gently. "I'm so fucking stupid."  
"You're not funny," she said, her voice muffled because she had her face pressed against his chest. "Not at all."  
"No," he agreed, and then he shifted, guiding one of her arms up around her neck and bending his knees to lift her, cradling her against his chest. He probably could have lifted Chekov like this when nothing was wrong, not that Chekov would ever have allowed it. Now, the effect it had was making her cry harder, though she did manage a smile.  
"I love you," she managed, on the tail end of a hiccup.

On the desk, the newly potted Weeping plant started to wail. Sulu stared at it for a moment and then he turned to carry her to bed. He'd deal with needy flora in a moment. He settled her down in his bed, gorgeous in his rumpled t-shirt. He dropped down onto his knees and leaned across the bed to kiss her, gently, the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, her reddened, damp cheek.

"Do you need anything?"

She shook her head and wiped her nose again, watching him with green eyes.

"Just come to bed," she said, quietly. "Bring Tolstoy."  
"Okay."

Sulu straightened up, tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor beside the bed, bending to pick up Tolstoy, smoothing the top of his head and turned around in time to see her peeling his shirt over her head, gathering her breasts against her with one arm.

He didn't need to be told again.

*

She was just happy when the cramps stopped. She grew used to taking painkillers and heat-pads up to the bridge for his shifts at the Conn. She'd spent long evenings lying in bed, curled on her side, watching old movies with Tolstoy tucked under her chin and Sulu's plant wailing because it missed him. Sulu made himself scare, coming to bed a long time after the start of Gamma shift, creeping into bed and pressing himself smoothly against her. The heat pouring off his skin had helped the back-aches.

She enjoyed those times, quiet eyes in the middle of the night when he stayed so close. For two weeks, he'd barely touched her. He'd kissed her, kissed her like he wanted her, but moved away before he could get too close. His hands stayed firmly over her clothes. She'd been in this body for nearly a month, and Sulu had done little more than kiss her in all of that time. She'd slept in her underwear and stayed in it. She'd showered alone.

It was...frustrating.

"Is Spock like this?" she asked, dropping into a chair in Uhura's quarters and huffing a stray curl out of her eyes. "Does he act like you are somehow...to be frightened of, now?"

Sprawled in his own chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, barefoot, Uhura grinned.

"Sorry, Chekov."

She'd made a noise that her mother used to make, a noise that could only be described as _Russian_ and tossed her head.

"I tell him that I want him. I _invite_ him into my bed. I do everything but...but...climb on top and ride him myself, and nothing!"

When she realised that Uhura was laughing at her, she flushed and covered her face with both slender hands. The silver ring that she'd been wearing for Sulu for a year now caught the light on her thumb, too big for the finger she usually wore it on.

"Shit," she said, with feeling.  
"Look," said Uhura, getting up and walking towards her, dropping down into a crouch in front of her chair, a hand on each arm. Even like this, he was beautiful, the lines of his face stronger, his eyes large and rimmed with dark lashes. He tilted his head on one side and looked her. " _Listen_ , Pasha. We'll get him, okay?"  
"I just. I love him, you know?" she said, lifting her head and looking her friend in the eye. "And he loves me. And he wants me; I _know_ it. I just need to remind him."

Uhura nodded and reached out, skimming his thumb against her cheekbone.

"If you ask me, he's fucking crazy."

That moment, Chekov's smile was utterly sweet.

"What do we do?" she asked him.  
"Well, first, you obviously do not have an idea of what to do with all of that hair, do you? And waht the hell do you have on under than uniform?" He held up one hand. "Wait. Don't tell me. I don't know want to know."

Chekov blushed.

"We'll do better," he said, and hauled himself up off the floor. "Strip."  
"All the way?"  
"All the way," he said, already making a beeline for his closet. "It's nothing i haven't seen before."

She supposed that he was right.

*

She waited. Sulu would be fencing, headphones firmly in place, and Chekov leaned back in her chair and pictured him, the smooth slide of his muscles, sweat-sheened skin, his hair pushed back from his face. She imagined stepping in behind him and tracing both hands up over his ribcage. The heels that Uhura had lent forced the muscles in her legs long and tight. She imagined the fine trembling in her ankles and thighs as he pushed his hand up under her dress.

She opened her eyes, cheeks flushed and warm, and he was already standing in the doorway.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Chekov stood up, smoothing her hands over the smooth sweep of her skirt. Sulu stared.

"...Wow."

She smiled, turning a little so that her skirt swished around her thighs.

"You like?"

Sulu dropped his kit bag and crossed the space between them, his hand coming up to brush a spiral curl back from her face. Uhura had neatly pulled her hair back into a twist before he took her by the chin and tilted her face and carefully outlined her eyes in black.

"Do I..?" Sulu grinned, a little breathless. "What the hell did you _do_?"  
"Uhura did it," said Chekov, with a little tilt to her chin.  
"Why?" asked Sulu.  
"For you," she said.

She took his face in both of her hands and kissed him. She'd intended to go slowly; eat dinner, drink wine, but there he was, right there, close enough to kiss and she wasn't hungry anymore. She had other wants. Her dress crinkled slightly when she pressed in against him, her hips against his. He made a soft, surprised sound against her mouth, both hands on her waist but, this time, she wasn't stepping away. She wasn't going to let him push her away. Her father's only son, she'd been looking after herself since she was a child. She'd been born in darkness, taken herself off to a new world. This here was the man that she'd been in love with for two years. And she was not letting him go.

"Pavel," he mumbled, their lips smudging together.  
"Don't you dare," she said.

Sulu pulled back enough that he could look her in the face. He studied her face for a moment and then, very deliberately, his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her in tight enough against him that she could feel that he was hard. She wanted to think that he'd been hard since he stepped through the door and saw her. She wanted to believe that. She bit her lip and stared up into his face.

"You look so fucking young," he said.  
"I'm still me," she told him.  
"I've never done this before." There was a pink flush in his cheeks and she touched it with the back of her fingers.  
"That doesn't matter," she said. "And you haven't done it with me like this. There's nothing about you that I don't know."

That much, she knew in her heart forever.

She turned slowly, bent her head. Her traced his fingers up her bare arms, light enough to make her shiver. The dress was black silk and it skimmed the lines of her perfectly. He brushed his fingers against the bare part of her back, followed it with his lips. She held her breath until he started to unhook her. She steadied the front of the dress with her hands. The was a faint trembling in her ankles and her thighs, standing in heels, waiting for him to touch her.

The dress dropped and pooled around her feel. SHe stepped clear of it.  
Behind her, she heard Sulu stop breathing.

"Jesus."

She turned back towards him, wrapped in silk and bone, garters digging into her thighs pleasingly. Carefully, she reached up and unclipped her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders in a froth of curls. She took a deep breath, breasts riding high in black silk. The ring, the one he'd given her for her eighteenth birthday, hung against her skin on a length of silver chain.

"Sit on the bed," she said. She walked towards him, combing her fingers through her hair. She'd practiced walking in the heels that afternoon in the shuttle bay, walking when usually he'd have run. She'd walked, carefully putting one foot in front of another, and she did it now, breathing, keeping her eyes fixed on him as he sank down onto the bed and looked up at her. She bit her lip and cupped her breasts with both hands. She'd spent a long time getting used to this body.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed that part of it.

Still looking up at her, Sulu dragged his t-shirt up over his head. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, cupping her ass, the tips of his fingers tracing down between her legs, brushing against her cunt behind. He touched her almost tentatively. It wasn't enough but it wasn't something and her hips lilted forward. She combed the fingers of both hands back through his hair, gently tugging his head back so that he was looking up at her.

"I've had dreams about you," she told him. "About you and me like this."

Sulu let out his breath in a shaky sigh.

"What kind of dreams?"

She brushed her fingers across his mouth and pushed, gently, until his lips parted. He watched her with wide, dark eyes, sucking on her fingers as he waited. She took a deep, shuddering both, leaning into his hands on her.

"Your mouth between my legs. Your fingers inside me. In my ass. In my..." She flushed, and looked down. "I dream about you fucking me."

When Sulu moaned, it came out muffled around her fingers. His hands tightened on her ass. Slowly, she pulled her fingers out of his mouth, slick with spit. She let him pull her closer, closer until his lips were almost brushing against lace. She unhooked her bra, cupped the weight of her breasts in her hands before her hand snaked down her belly, her fingers working under the waistband of her panties. They slid lower, brushing against her clit, her hips pushing forward, her knuckles brushing against his lips with a layer of silk between them. Thumb pressed close, she pushed one finger inside herself, her head rolling back on her neck, her hair tumbling down her back. Her breath panted out of her. Every inch of her skin felt like it was dancing sparks. She'd never felt anything like it. Her head spun. It felt like running too hard and stopping too soon.

Sulu surged to his feet, taking her by surprise, his mouth covering hers, her bare chest pressed against his, her hand trapped between them. He wrenched her hand out of her panties, fingers wrapped around her wrist as he dragged her hand up to his mouth, sucking on her fingers again. She fumbled, pushing her hand down inside of his sweats, wrapping her fingers around his dick and stroking him the way that she knew that he liked.

She'd had two years to learn how.

They couldn't undress each other quick enough. He slipped and snapped a garter against her skin. She shoved his sweats down, stripping him naked, because she could do that, because he was hers to do that to. They fell onto the bed and he was still stripping her out of the things that Uhura had strapped her into. He ran his hand down the front of her body, pressing his fingers between her legs. She pressed her fingers over him and guided him.

Naked, finally, free in her skin, she crawled over him on all fours. Her body above him, she leaned both hands down against his chest and bent to kiss him. The ring swung forward and brushed against his chest.

"Come on," he said, both hands on her ass again. "Come on, Chekov. Jesus."

Her head tipped back she reached for him and then, very slowly, she sank down onto him. It wasn't the first time that she'd done it, sunk down onto him like that, prisoner of her own weight, but it felt so different. She huffed out a laugh.

"I cannot believe we waited this fucking long for this."

Sulu was squeezing both of her breasts and she moved quick enough to bounce them against his hands. She moaned loudly, safe in the knowledge that all of the quarters were sound-proofed, leaned her weight forward onto one hand to change the angle. He swore, Russian, English, the words tumbling one over the other out of him as he moved, pushing up onto her knees so that she could slide back down onto his dick slowly. She fumbled to press two fingers against her clit, brushing her thumb against the base of his dick. When Sulu pressed his fingers against her lips, she trailed her tongue against his skin, against fingerprints that knew starships as well as he knew her body, the Enterprise and her body both shining like stars when they caught the light. His hand skimmed down the curve of her back and he brushed his damp fingers down the cleft of her ass and lower and it was that familiar touch that did it for her, in the end. Her orgasm exploded out of her so hard that she forget everything except his name. While she was still trembling, he pulled her down against him, cradled against his chest while he was still rocking. When he came, she turned her face and kissed his chest and told him that she loved him.

Some things changed. Some things never had to.

*

Afterward, Sulu lay in the bed, sticky and sated while Chekov padded around the quarters in her bare feet. She was very beautiful, standing with her bare back to him, the sweet curve of her ass and the tumble of her hair which she was brushing, slowly, one long stroke after another. Even like this, there was something familiar in the lines of her. Sulu could see the man he loved in her, right there, as he lay there thinking about the fact that skin renewed itself every six years, entirely.

He fell asleep before she got back into bed, wondering how long it would take for her to entirely slip that skin.

And they almost always drifted apart, woke up on opposite sides of the mattress and had to find their way back together. Eyes still closed, Sulu rolled towards Chekov, reaching out with one hand. He found Chekov's shoulder, neat lines, firm muscle. For a moment, it didn't even register with him that anything had changed; he ws so used to Chekov's bones, but then Chekov rolled bonelessly towards him and there he was, Pavel Andreivich Chekov, and the bruises on his throat had faded away to nothing. For a moment, all that Sulu could do was stare at him. It had been a month. It had been a month since the last time Sulu saw him.

Quietly wondering, he leaned down and kissed the smooth curve of one bare shoulder. Chekov sighed and half turned towards him, one knee lifted under the sheet. The ring slid against his chest. Carefully, Sulu reached around him and unfastened the chain.

It slid onto Chekov's fourth finger as easily as if it was made to be there, which it had been.

Sulu lay back down beside him.

"I missed you," he whispered. Chekov mumbled something that sounded like Russian and turned his face into the pillow. Sulu leaned over him, snagging Tolstoy from the floor and slotting him back into the bed on Chekov's far side.

He closed his eyes, and lay awake, and listened to Chekov breathe.  
He reached for Chekov's shoulder again, and he kept a steady hand.


End file.
